


One for the Ages

by rivlee



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Riley Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-08 02:22:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1923135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivlee/pseuds/rivlee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or the convoluted tale of how long it took Sam to ask Bucky out and why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One for the Ages

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a tumblr prompt fill for augustbird. I promised to expand it from the initial post and here we are over 4k later.

It started on a regular Tuesday morning. Sam walked into his office, dropped his bag next to his chair, and found the thin paper-wrapped package on his desk. He looked at the keys in his hand, knew he just used them to open the door, and really hoped his day wasn’t about to start off with a visit from the bomb squad, because damn. That was the kind of shit he expected on a Monday morning, or a Friday afternoon, even a Thursday. Not Tuesday. 

The package looked like the size of a wall calendar, and while he knew paper-thin plastic explosives were at least out there for the military-grade black market, he didn’t think anyone would waste something that expensive on a lowly VA counselor. 

There was a tag attached. It read _**Mr. Samuel Wilson**_ and was written in actual goddamned calligraphy. Sam swore he could still smell the fresh ink. He carefully picked the package up and shook it. Nothing inside made a sound.

“Oh, this is a bad idea,” he muttered as he peeled off the tape and pushed aside the plain brown paper.

“Huh,” he said when he was done. A Coltrane record. Not just any John Coltrane record, but _Blue Train_ in actual vinyl. He’d told Steve just last week how he’d been meaning to track one down since his last copy got ruined in storage. 

He knew Steve was on his way to somewhere vaguely central Europe right now. Natasha had picked him up this morning, leaving Bucky and Sam to finish the standard morning jog on their own. He _thought_ Steve had been in the house all night. Sam fell asleep to the sounds of Steve, Bucky, and a _Monty Python_ marathon. Considering Steve was an actual super soldier Sam wouldn’t put working with an impossible timeline past him. He figured it was worth a call at least.

“Sam,” Steve greeted with a smile evident in his voice. “Miss me already? I’m still over the Atlantic.”

“Yeah, try not to fall in it again. Third time might finally do it,” Sam said. He didn’t quite know the polite way to ask if Steve was trying to _woo_ him or some shit, so he just came out and asked. “You didn’t happen to have Natasha break into my office and leave a Coltrane record on my desk last night, did you?”

Steve laughed. “Not unless it was an accidental sleep command on my part. I don’t think she’d do it anyway; that’s kind of child’s play for her.”

“What?” he heard Natasha ask in the background.

Steve quickly explained. There was the sound of muffled fabric, followed by what could’ve been a slap.

“Steve?” Sam asked.

“Maybe you have a secret admirer,” Natasha answered. “Oh please, Steve. I barely touched you. Anyway, maybe it’s Rachel? The desk girl, right? Or what about the reporter? The one doing her study on the atrocious conditions in the VA hospitals? Maybe it’s one of your co-workers? You said that Brian guy liked to spar with you? What about Antoine? He’s supposed to be around there right now.”

If Sam put his head in his hands then it was only because it was too early in the morning and not his general lack of despair that Natasha knew more about him than the CIA and NSA combined. 

“Natasha, just out of general curiosity, did you watch a lot of soap operas when you first got stateside?”

“The handler and partner they assigned me had a combined horrible taste in television programs,” she said.

That was neither a confirmation nor denial. Sam doubted he was going to get anything more out of her. 

There was another struggle the sound of Natasha’s laugh, and then Steve was back.

“Maybe it was Bucky,” he said. “He likes taking care of people.”

“Saw him this morning, man,” Sam said. “Doubt it was Bucky.”

“Looks like Natasha’s right. Secret admirer seems to be the logical conclusion.”

“This isn’t grade school,” Sam said.

“The theory stands,” Steve said. 

Sam tried not to think about it for the rest of the day; he failed, but at least he made the attempt. When he picked Bucky up from his therapy session on his lunch break, he couldn’t help but ask him.

“Did Steve or Natasha say anything about buying me a Coltrane record?” 

Bucky shook his head, strands of hair falling into his face. “Nothing I can recall. Why?”

“Someone did. They wrapped it for me and left it on my desk at work.”

“Did you not like it, or something?” Bucky asked. He rolled his eyes and pulled his hair back. He secured it with an actual rubber band from Sam’s glove compartment.

“Sarah’s going to yell at you if she sees you damaging your hair like that,” Sam said.

“Who’s going to tell her?” Bucky asked. He tapped on the dashboard. “Eyes on the road, Wilson. Did the gift really bother you?”

Sam shrugged. “I mean, it’s a nice gesture. Just kind of creepy? I guess I haven’t made it a secret I like Coltrane, but it’s a pretty specific thing to buy for someone. Maybe Nat’s right. Maybe Antoine got it for me. He’d have access to my office, and he’s got such a fucked up schedule he probably couldn’t drop by the house. Still doesn’t explain the card though.”

“Card?” Bucky asked.

“Handwritten,” Sam said. “To a _Mr. Samuel Wilson_. Who does shit like that?”

“A person raised with good manners,” Bucky said.

Sam rolled his eyes. “You don’t address personal gifts to your friends like that, Buck. Only form-letters from banks and telemarketers doing cold calls give me a variation of that. If it’s your friend it’s just your name, you know? Just Sam or Wilson or Falcon.”

“Let me just put that down in my notebook of modern behavior norms,” Bucky said.

It would’ve been a funny joke if Sam didn’t know Bucky was completely serious. He’d seen the notebook, and was actually impressed by the behavior patterns Bucky had picked up on by sheer observation. He knew he _shouldn’t_ be, not when the guy sitting next to him was a trained sniper from the 1940s, but he was nonetheless. Bucky was an actual master at body language and vocal tics and all the unspoken tells, even when he was just casually watching strangers in the park. 

“You feel like grabbing a bite?” Sam asked. 

Bucky shrugged. “I could eat.”

“Our choices depend on my drive time. Do you want to me to drop you off at the Metro or do you want to spend the day lounging around my office?”

“I’m not done reorganizing your bookshelves,” Bucky said. He picked at the strings of his hoodie. “Can we get some pizza? None of that gourmet shit. Just pizza?”

“Just pizza,” Sam said. “A tall order, Barnes, but I think we can do that.”

*********

Thursday had been a shitty day from being stuck in a traffic jam from hell—even for the Beltway—to ruining two shirts thanks to fumbling hands and demon condiments. It got worse when Steve called to check in and ended up singing that godforfuckingsaken _Bad Day_ song after he’d listened to Sam’s rant. Natasha was clearly trying to undo all the work Sam had put into Steve’s musical education.

He came home to the smell of cinnamon, baked crust, and apples wafting through the windows. His mouth actually watered and he nudged open the front door wondering if death by baked goods was an actual thing.

He only found Bucky in the kitchen, hair pulled up in a messy bun on top of his head, washing a mixing bowl. 

“Did you kidnap someone’s grandma?” Sam asked. 

“Not today,” Bucky said. He had a stripe of flour across his cheek and Sam had to stop himself from wiping it off. 

“When you’d learn to bake?”

“Miss Angela’s been giving me lessons,” Bucky said. 

Miss Angela lived two doors down and was chronologically about a decade younger than Bucky. She had adopted Bucky as one of her own, and he usually stopped by her house once a day to help with regular chores. She’d also won awards for her pies, and promised to take the secret recipes to her grave unless she found someone worthy. 

The timer went off as Sam stood there and thought of the best way to ask _how_ Bucky charmed such a secret out of her. Then he remembered that according to at least twenty of the unofficial biographies, Bucky Barnes had charmed half of Brooklyn in his youth. He was still standing there like an asshole when Bucky pushed a plate with a perfect piece of apple pie in his direction.

“You look like you need this more than me,” he said. 

Sam focused on that stripe of flour still on Bucky’s cheek and the confused smile on his lips. 

“It’s not poisoned,” Bucky said as he placed a fork down next to the plate.

“Didn’t think it would be,” Sam said. He shook himself out of it and took a bite. “Jesus, that’s good.”

“Better be,” Bucky said as he got his own piece. “I had to dance with Miss Angela and half the senior center through their month of salsa lessons to earn the right just to _watch_ her make a pie.”

“Worth it,” Sam said.

“I certainly think so,” Bucky agreed.

Sam reached over and dusted the flour off Bucky’s cheek. “Got some on you, there.”

*********

On Monday Sam came back from an atrociously long budget meeting wherein he had to justify the cost of basic services to find a container of hot soup and a sandwich on his desk. There was a stuffed peregrine falcon toy guarding it.

He texted Bucky. _Food’s still warm. Must still be in the building. Are you embarrassed to eat with me, Buck?_

 _I’ve started a falcon food delivery,_ he texted back. _Meeting with Doc Casson_.

Sam let out a sigh of relief. Bucky had been bouncing between a few different doctors for months looking for one that fit. It looked like Doc Casson was the winner. 

_Office door’s open if you need it after_.

 _Eat your food_.

It was the best damn sandwich Sam had had in months.

*********

“Nice tie. Your mom buy that?” Leila asked.

Sam looked down at the light blue silk. “Nah, roommate got it for me. He drives a few of our elderly neighbors around town to run errands. Told me he saw it in one of the stores and said it was time to retire my standard black one.”

“Your roommate?” Leila asked. 

She had her reporter look on. She’d exposed international government scandals with that look. It had been a good five years since they dated and Sam was still smart enough to be wary of that look.

“Friend of a friend. He needed a place to stay, and I had the space,” Sam said. 

Even though Natasha had released the SHIELD files into the world, even though Bucky now had a legal identity and bank account under the name of _Franklin Wilson_ they’d all decided not to openly share Bucky’s location to outsiders. Leila wasn’t really an outsider to Sam, but she wasn’t on Bucky’s short list of trusted individuals. That group really only extended to Steve, Natasha, Riley, Sam and his family, T’Challa, Monica, and Antoine. 

“So you really are shacking up with Bucky Barnes,” Leila said. She rolled her eyes at him. “I _know_ you, Sam. You take down a government agency with Captain America, he just happens to get into a fight with a man that facial recognition and those leaked files identify as Bucky Barnes, and suddenly after two years you have a roommate that is _not_ Steve Rogers.”

“Sometimes it’s Steve.”

“He also introduced himself to me,” Leila said. “We’ve ran into each other outside your office a few times. He’s a nice kid.”

Sam laughed at anyone calling Bucky a _kid_. He called Bucky a kid only as a joke and Bucky usually threw a pillow at him for the trouble.

“Samuel,” Leila sighed. “Don’t be an asshole.”

“I’m never an asshole,” Sam said. He paused as he thought of a few Hydra agents he’d met in the past year. The conversations were only with their fists. “I’m never an asshole unless someone deserves it,” he amended.

Leila shook her head. “Man buys you a tie, brings you lunch on the regular, and you so clearly don’t get it.”

Sam frowned. “Don’t get what?”

“I don’t have to tell you to be careful, because you’re exceedingly supportive and kind to people you know need and deserve it. I just think you should have a talk with Barnes about expectations and the type of relationship you’re in before someone gets hurt.”

“I’m so lost here,” Sam admitted.

Leila rested her head in her hands and took a deep breath. “Fine, let’s try it this way. When was the last time you went out on a date? Or thought about dating anyone? Or even a hook-up?”

“It’s been awhile,” Sam admitted. “I’m okay with that. It’s not like I feel something’s lacking in my life. I’m pretty emotionally fulfilled right now.”

Leila smirked and went back to her salad “I wonder why that is,” she muttered.

*********

“So courting…was that big in your youth?” Sam asked. They were enjoying a pretty decent weekend weather wise to clean the outside of the house. It seemed as safe a time as any to broach the subject that had been floating in the back of Sam’s head since his lunch with Leila.

“No, Sam. We just bought our dates off with a dodo egg and a display of how fire worked before we stopped to watch a dinosaur eat a mastodon,” Bucky said.

“You need to review the history of the world,” Sam said.

Bucky threw the rag he was using to wash the windows at Sam’s head. “I’m clearly not the only one.”

“You had your places though, right?” Sam asked. “Dance halls? Sock hops?”

Bucky’s face had an odd look as he studied Sam. He turned the full attention of that perfectly scary and competent mind and body on Sam for a full two minutes before he shrugged.

“I went to the pictures. There were some local dances, but sock hops were after my time. There were music clubs of course. People went out in groups or just each other. You wore your Sunday best if you could. It all depended on what you were looking for, you know? War going on, rationing and the like. You could die tomorrow, so some kids ran to the altar and others just to the motel. Honestly, I don’t think much has changed in terms of what you do. Dinner and a show, maybe even with a group of friends.”

“No chaperones?” Sam asked.

Bucky’s lips twisted in a smile that spoke volumes. “Not around the people I dated. Yes, people,” he said before Sam could ask. “You had to be more careful in those days, of course, but I have some damn good memories of Third Avenue before the war.”

“Anything serious from all those people?” Sam asked.

Bucky shook his head. “Couldn’t have me if you weren’t willing to have Steve too. Had to be willing to live with the matched set or nothing. Steve could’ve held his own; I didn’t see a reason for him to go at it that way.” 

Sam wasn’t the least bit surprised to find that out. Even these days, after all they’d been through, after all the connections and friends they’ve made in their own recoveries, it was clear Bucky and Steve would always be closer than brothers and best friends. Matched set infuckingdeed. 

“For real though. If you wanted something more serious how would you make those intentions known?” Sam asked.

Bucky laughed. “Like I said, never really got there; never had anyone that serious. There were other concerns in my life. I don’t know, Sam. As I said, I think it’s still the same like these days. Be respectful. Be attentive. Meet the family and try to make a good impression. Remember the little things.” 

He nodded. “Sounds about right.”

Bucky pushed his hair back from his face. “Why the questioning? You planning on going back in time or something? Trying to steal away with Rita Hayworth?”

“No way,” Sam said. “Langston Hughes or no one.”

“Not even Josephine Baker?”

Sam considered it. “Okay, maybe Josephine too.” He turned back to his bucket of soapy water and the bike that needed to be washed down after Bucky’s last ride through apparently every single mud puddle in the area. He jumped back when a sudden spray of cold water hit him. 

Bucky grinned from where he had the hose in his hand. “Why you really asking?”

“Just want to make sure Miss Angela isn’t going to get her heart broken,” Sam said.

After the fact and upon some mental reviews later, Sam still wasn’t sure how Bucky managed to attack him with the hose and the bucket of water at _Sam’s_ feet, but at least they knew Bucky’s reflexes were still up to par.

*********

“You’re so dumb,” Riley said. “I love you, but you’re really fucking dumb sometimes.” He finished his round of arm exercises and stretched. “So dumb.”

“I get it, I’m stupid,” Sam said. He wiped the sweat off his own face and grabbed both their water bottles. “Care to tell me what it is this time?” he asked as he passed Riley his own. 

He stood back and let Riley maneuver from the bench to his wheelchair. After a long talk months ago, Riley made it pretty damn clear if he wanted Sam’s help, he’d ask for it. 

“I’m thinking of writing a series of romance novels,” Riley said as he situated himself. “It’ll be a bestseller. I can see it now. All about the adventures of an oblivious PJ turned counselor and the cyborg assassin frozen from WWII who loves him.”

“Bucky is not in love with me,” Sam said. “I sort of asked him.”

“How do you sort of ask someone if they’re in love with you?”

“I asked him how he went about dating back then,” Sam said. “It was an opening. Nothing.”

“You’re so fucking stupid,” Riley said. “I’m calling your Ma and praising her for being awesome but raising a complete fool of a child. And then she’ll tell you what I’m telling you now, since she gave Barnes a whole box full of your baby pictures.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Bucky finds organization soothing. He offered to scan them into the computer for all her digital photo frames and then put them in actual photo albums for her.”

“So dumb,” Riley reiterated.

“Riley, shut the fuck up,” Sam said.

“Dude—no bullshit, okay,” Riley said with huge eyes. “He called your snoring _cute_. Your snoring—a thing I am sure has called the actual dead from their graves back to life—he called it _adorable_. That’s love, asshole.”

“I call your ugly mug adorable too, and that’s love,” Sam shot back.

“Yeah, but you don’t want to go down on me ‘til I’m invoking God and all the angels,” Riley said. He took a long sip of water like the smug asshole he’d always been. 

“Why do I put up with your ass?”

“Because I’m still the only voice of reason you’ll listen to,” Riley said.

Sam snorted. 

“Hey, I never said I was a _good_ voice of reason, but it’s still the best you got. And I don’t see you denying what I just said.”

“I’ve thought about it,” Sam admitted. “I’m just not…” he trailed off. “I don’t want to ruin anything if it’s just experimentation on his part.”

“Yeah, okay,” Riley said. He pulled his phone out. “You need to call Antoine and ask him about one of the tales Jim Morita told when he got absolutely wasted at a family reunion. Apparently Jimmy Morita and Jimmy Barnes were biblically familiar on more than one occasion.”

Sam had worshiped the Howling Commandos as a kid. He kind of hated Riley right then.

“I know, right?” Riley made a face. “Young Morita was good-looking though. You got to give Barnes credit for taste.”

“Please stop talking,” Sam begged. 

****

*****

Sam was going to blame the potato salad and the whole of Riley’s family for their matchmaking picnic having ways. That was his story, he was sticking to it, and maybe he should just stop thinking and stay steady in this hammock. The hammock he’d fallen asleep in with Bucky sprawled out over him after said marathon eating of potato salad and Riley family picnic shenanigans. It didn’t have to mean anything. Even if he damn well knew how significant it was for Bucky to fall asleep outside, around strangers, with only Sam at his back.

Fuck.

There was a flash in the low light and Sam could hear Riley’s cackling from the patio. Sam just kicked his foot off the ground and let the hammock sway again before Bucky could wake up. 

****

*****

Sam could take a hint, especially when his grandmother sent him what felt like a three-page manifesto via Facebook telling him to shit or get off the pot. She’d used that exact phrase before reminding him that _Nana still loves her Boo-Boo Bear. Don’t fuck it up, Samuel._

Sam could do this; he _wanted_ to do this, even though three months ago he would’ve laugh at the possibility. It’s not that he never thought of Bucky that way, but he didn’t know if Bucky was ready for exploring anything beyond a friendship. Obviously retrospect was an eye-opener, and Sam felt like an asshole about the Coltrane record thing, but he really didn’t think Bucky would be the secret admirer type. 

“You look nice,” Steve said. He brushed an invisible piece of lint off Sam’s shirt. “Natasha said I’m supposed to give you the _shovel talk_ , but I trust and respect you enough to know that’s not required.”

“If I break his heart, I’m still going to get a shield to the neck though, right?”

Steve just tilted his head and smiled. Message received. 

“What are your plans for the night?” Sam asked.

“Riley and I are going to spy on you two,” Steve said.

“No, really,” Sam said.

“Really,” Steve said. “Besides, Riley said no one’s wined and dined him since the last decade and I’m free. Can’t complain about some burgers and a movie.”

“You’re not even going to try and hide are you?” Sam asked.

Steve laughed. “Now that would be telling.”

“I never should’ve introduced you two,” Sam said. 

“Too late,” Steve teased.

They both turned to the door when they heard the rumbling sounds of Bucky’s bike coming down the road.

“Ready?” Steve asked.

“No,” Sam said as he felt his heart pound. “Yes,” he said. “Kind of like taking flight for the first time. I’m about to piss myself, and I know this is dangerous and could end in a full body cast, but I want to do it all the same.”

“Don’t see anything wrong with that,” Steve said.

“What’s with that smile?” Bucky asked as he came in the door. “I know that smile. That smile usually means you’re five seconds from starting a brawl or worse. Please tell me you didn’t _really_ join that skydiving team that Natasha suggested?” He turned his attention to Sam and grinned. “Looking nice there, Wilson.”

“Thanks,” Sam said as he straightened his shoulders and went into Parade Rest. Damn reflexes.

“At Ease,” Bucky said with his laugh. He dropped his jacket and keys on the counter. “Are you two up to something? Do I need to call in reinforcements?”

“Not tonight,” Steve said. His lips twitched. “Well, not part of the plans for tonight.” He gave Sam a nudge before walking past Bucky. He reached up and fussed with Bucky’s messy hair. “Get a comb.”

“Fuck off, Rogers,” Bucky said. He batted Steve’s hand away. “It’s fine. I got caught in a rain storm and some wind.”

“Helmet?” Steve asked.

“Stones and glass houses,” Bucky shot back. 

“You’re both assholes who need to wear helmets,” Sam said. He gave Steve a steady look. “You’re going to be late if you don’t leave soon.”

Steve winked—actually winked—at him. Jesus how did this become his life? 

“What was that about?” Bucky asked. The hair was starting to curl around his forehead and he looked so young with that confused look on his face. 

“He has dinner plans,” Sam forced out of a suddenly tight throat. 

“Steve?” Bucky asked. “Wow that only happens about twice a century.”

“About time then,” Sam said. He didn’t know why he kept stalling; there was a time when he was damn good at all this—before super soldiers and brainwashed assassins and the vulnerable smiles of out-of-time men trying to figure themselves out came to his doorstep. 

Bucky took a sniff of his shirt and grimaced. “What about you?” he asked as he pulled it off. 

“I...” Sam stopped. Back muscles. Howling Commando insignia tattoo on his shoulder. Long lines of bare skin, metal, and a toned body.

“Sam?” Bucky asked. He frowned as he stood over the hamper by the laundry room. “You okay?”

Sam shook himself. “Sorry—I—just.”

“Spit it out, man.” There was a smile there; Bucky was amused rather than annoyed. “You look like you got your own hot date tonight.”

“Maybe?”

“Maybe?” Bucky asked. “Not sure?”

Sam knew he had patience, endurance, strength, and determination. He’d survived war zones, watching his best friend almost die on him, and the kind of training that left grown-ass men in tears. He knew very well what he was and was not capable of achieving. 

He wasn’t scared right now. This wasn’t fear. This was that nervous excitement—Christmas Eve waiting for Santa or that slight pause and electricity in the air right before the very first kiss.

Or the way he felt when he first saw Bucky really smile. The warm feeling at the hesitant curve of lips and a ducked head and the knowledge something so small could impact his world.

Riley was right. Sam was so fucking stupid sometimes. 

Sam closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and remembered what it was like to take that first jump.

“Bucky, would you like to go out on a date?”

“Sure,” Bucky said.

“With me?”

“Absolutely.”

“Tonight?”

Bucky was quiet, though Sam could feel it when he got close, he could smell the traces of the road, cut grass, sweat, and ozone on Bucky’s skin. He opened his eyes when he felt cool metal cupping his cheek.

“Took you long enough,” Bucky said. “Glad you came around. I was close to taking Natasha’s advice.”

“Do I want to know?” Sam asked. He let his hands drift down from Bucky’s shoulders to his hips, let them rest there, feel the warmth under the skin, and the heavy, welcome weight of Bucky’s trust as they stood there.

“She suggested a lap dance,” Bucky said. 

“Could’ve said something,” Sam said.

Bucky gave him a look, and even though he didn’t actual say it, the _you’re an idiot_ was implied.

“Thought I was saying plenty,” Bucky said. “Figured you just weren’t interested and didn’t know how to let me down.”

“Very interested,” Sam promised. He rested his forehead against Bucky’s own. “I wouldn’t have fucked around with you like that, okay?”

“I know,” Bucky said. “Riley had a—what did he call it? A Come to Jesus talk with me and explained that in some cases you lacked your usual insight, and that I probably needed to be more explicit about what I wanted because subtlety wasn’t going to cut it this time.”

“And what do you want?” Sam asked.

Bucky’s breath was warm against Sam’s lips. “A bit of everything,” he murmured. His fingers clenched on Sam’s shoulders. “What’re you offering?”

“A bit of everything,” Sam replied.


End file.
